


The Storyteller

by nightscape



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternatively titled "Chuck Arrives And Everyone Loses Their Shit", Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, minewt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4836335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightscape/pseuds/nightscape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Newt discovers his gift for storytelling, while Minho is hopeless at words (and hopelessly in love).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Storyteller

Minho has never been good with words.

It is a known fact among the Gladers that their beloved Keeper of the Runners is as blunt as a hammer, but only if said hammer has been smashed into a brick wall at least a hundred times over. Newt, the more linguistically gifted one, worries that Minho's vocabulary will never expand beyond variations of "shut up and get your ass into the Maze", "I live with a bunch of idiots", and "where's the food".

"Oh, shut up," Minho grumbles, shrugging off his pack as he strides past. "I call it 'getting straight to the point'. Now, where's the food?"

"You are _proving_ my _point_ ," Newt groans, burying his head in his hands.

\-- 

It all starts with the arrival of the latest Greenie.

The poor boy is a mess by the time Newt hoists him out of the Box. He's shaking and crying and literally shitting his pants out of fear, and barely makes it three steps before tripping over a rock and sprawling onto the soil.

"Jeez, kid, I didn't know you missed solid ground that badly," Minho snorts, trying to lighten the mood as the rest of the Gladers stand around, not quite sure what to do with the terrified newbie. The boy only wails harder in response, and Newt rolls his eyes so hard that it's a surprise they don't pop right out of their sockets.

 

The Glade spirals into a state of panic a few minutes later- they've never dealt with a Greenie this young and hysterical, and of all days, Alby just _had_ to choose today to come down with a sky-high fever. Newt, the second-in-command, declares a state of emergency.

Frypan is frantically cooking up a meal, the Med-jacks are ransacking the Homestead in search of something to help, and Gally has just started to brew an extra-strong concoction with the intention of knocking the child unconscious. All while the Greenie continues to howl at the top of his lungs in the centre of the Glade.

Minho and Newt are left to take care of the hysterical child, very much resembling a pair of babysitters at their wits' end. The latter pulls up a stool and forces the boy to take a seat, while he and Minho sit cross-legged on the grass in front of him.

Minho decides it would be a good idea to distract the Greenie with a little introduction. "So... welcome to the Glade. We've been stuck here for three years with no way out."

The kid looks ready to faint.

Newt clamps a hand over the Keeper's mouth before any further damage can be done, and ever-so-gently shoves him aside. "You're making things worse, you bloody genius," he hisses. 

Minho shrugs. "It's the truth." 

For a second, Newt looks all set to throttle some necks. Then he squints and rubs his temples. "I used to have the faintest memory of something that calmed me down when I was younger. It's all blurry, but I know it's in there... somewhere... a- _ha_."

Newt scoots closer to the curly-haired boy, whose face has turned a curious mix of red and purple from all the crying he's done. He clears his throat, and Minho's never seen him this nervous. "Hey. Hey, kid. Ya wanna hear a story?"

The boy immediately goes silent. The rest of the Gladers must have noticed, because everyone stops in their tracks and gapes at the three figures sitting in the middle of the field. Jeff pokes his head out of the Homestead and yells, "What happened? Is he dead?"

"No!" Minho yells back, waving his arms. "Everyone shut up, Newt's working some magic here."

Newt opens and closes his mouth, looking extremely self-conscious. "Well, I'll see what I can come up with," he says awkwardly. Then he sucks in a deep breath, and the magic truly begins.

 

The story is simple: a boy finds himself lost in a forest. The trees and animals of the forest take pity on him, and work together to eventually lead him home.

But Newt has a special way with words that nobody can put a finger on. It's the first time he's told this story, but the words come so naturally that he could have been telling it for years. His voice is clear and strong and brimming with expression, breathing life into the tale.

In all the time Minho's lived in the Glade, the boys have been doing nothing but trying to survive. Trying to find a way out, and nothing else. There's barely any time for fantasy, for dreaming up things that could happen in a different world. For as long as he can remember, nobody has ever heard a story.

Needless to say, he is absolutely mesmerized.

So is the rest of the Glade- halfway through, Minho glances over his shoulder and realizes that all the boys have gathered around, hanging on to every word. All eyes are on Newt, and the Runner can't help but feel a twinge of... possessiveness? Wait, what the shuck was _that_?

Once Newt finishes with a shy "The end," it's as if a spell has been lifted. The Gladers return to their daily routines, some staying behind to give their stand-in leader a compliment or clap on the back.

While Newt is preoccupied with his fans, Minho gives the newbie a once-over. The boy looks considerably calmer, and is beginning to take in his surroundings with wide eyes.

"You alright there, Greenie?" Minho asks.

"Chuck," the boy responds dazedly, like he's waking up from a dream. "I- I think my name is Chuck."

\-- 

Shortly afterwards, Newt is appointed the official storyteller of the Glade. Which is good news for the boys, and even better news for Minho.

Every night, the group builds a little fire by the Homestead and huddles together on the grass, while Newt sits on a log and spins his tales. Minho never fails to claim the front spot (he isn't Keeper of the Runners for nothing), and nobody dares to dispute that.

Little known to anyone else, Minho looks forward to these nightly sessions the most. Of course, it's not because it gives him an excuse to gaze at Newt's face for thirty minutes straight, uninterrupted. It's not because of the way the blonde boy looks like an angel, with his flawless features framed by the light from the fire. And it is most definitely _not_ because the sound of Newt's smooth yet slightly husky voice makes Minho's heart stutter and race. Nope, not at all.

It becomes a routine- each night, Newt tells his stories, while Minho sits and gazes. Unbeknownst to the both of them, the Runner's two-year-long crush grows with every word.

\-- 

One night, Newt tells a love story.

It's different from the usual tales of ghosts and battles and adventure- just a simple narration of a boy who falls in love with a girl. The Gladers sit up a bit straighter throughout this one, because as far as they can recall, they haven't seen a girl _or_ fallen in love. (With the exception of Minho, of course, although he won't admit it.)

Newt speaks of romance and longing and eventual loss, and even the stone-hearted Gally sheds a single tear. Minho would be lying through his teeth if he says his face doesn't heat up a little. It leaves him wondering how Newt can possibly know so much about love- memories of a past relationship, perhaps?

Suppressing a wave of jealousy at the thought, Minho wills himself to focus on the story. Soon enough, he loses himself in that perfect face and melodious voice once again.

 

"The story's over, you know." 

There's a smile in Newt's voice, and Minho is jolted back to reality. Looking around, he realizes that everyone has headed off to sleep, leaving him and Newt by the dying fire. Which means he must've been sitting and gaping like an idiot for at least five minutes.

He thinks that getting swallowed by a Griever would be a good way to go.

"Um. Yeah. I'll just be going to bed, then." Minho stands up quickly, praying hard that his blush isn't visible in the darkness.

Newt chuckles, then swings his legs up so that he's lying across the log. He looks up at the Runner, an amused smirk spreading across his face. "You know, I think I've had enough of telling stories. Why don't you tell me one?"

This spells trouble, and Minho knows it. But when he sees the blonde boy pat the ground next to the log with another smirk, his resolve crumbles in an instant. Ever so hesitantly, he walks over and sits on the grass with his back resting against Newt's makeshift bed.

"Well, this is cozy," Newt hums from behind him. Minho is hyperaware of the fact that Newt's head rests just inches away from his, so close that his chin could graze Minho's hair if he shifts down just a little. "I suppose it's story time?"

The Runner might be the complete opposite of a pushover, but he finds it impossible to say no to Newt every single time. In that moment, he decides that since he's going to hell, he might as well go down all the way. "I'll give it a try," he says lamely.

"Once upon a time, there was a boy... a lonely one. Life pretty much sucked for him, I think. One day, he met a special person, someone he really liked."

He's confessing. He's shucking _confessing_ , and he hadn't even realized. This is possibly the most awkward thing he's done in his entire life.

If Newt has caught on, he doesn't show any signs of it. "Seems like something I could relate to," he murmurs, staring up at the sky. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt. Keep going."

"That special person was warm and caring and saw the boy through his best and worst times," Minho continues, "and the boy liked the person so much that he thought his heart might explode, or something along those lines." He grimaces at the mental image. "But the boy couldn't tell the person how he felt because he was a prideful asshole, and because he was ninety-nine percent sure that the person wouldn't like him back."

For a moment, both boys are silent, the only sounds being each other's quiet breathing and the crackle of the receding fire.

"Tell me," Newt says, propping himself up on one elbow and leaning forward to whisper into the Runner's ear. His voice is fraught with desire, the pretense slipping. "Tell me how the story ends."

Minho hates that he can't find the words to describe the days and months and years he's spent pining for a boy with blonde hair, bewitching eyes and a heart-stopping smile. There are too many things waiting to be said, yet they stop right on the tip of his tongue and refuse to go any further. "Shuck it," he growls in frustration and before he knows it, he's turning around in one swift motion and hooking a hand around the back of Newt's neck to pull him down.

No further words are needed.

\-- 

Later that night, when Minho is dozing off in his hammock with a certain boy's head resting on his shoulder, he hears a sleepy murmur.

"Minho?"

"Mmhmm?"

"Please never try to tell a story again."

"Good that."

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by Peter Pan; I saw some similarities between the Gladers and the Lost Boys, and thought it would be cute to see Newt as the "mother" (a.k.a Wendy) who told them stories at night. Everything seen here is pre-Thomas and Teresa because... well, I guess you could say that things were a lot less complicated before they arrived.


End file.
